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Wells or at Worcester? No, he would not ride so far east as Worcester. And the messenger knew he could not go much further without rest. Back up the road was a track that might run east. There was a village of sorts there. It was nearly dawn. Perhaps he could get some refreshment and a place to rest. He could ask, too, if they had seen his lord's troop go by. |
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In Monmouth, Alinor was enjoying herself heartily. Isobel had had a quick and easy delivery; the child was large and lusty and gave every sign of doing well. It was sheer pleasure to talk to Isobel, sheer pleasure to hold the strong infant and play with the older children. Alinor made no attempt to understand her lightness of heart, but now and again a phrase that Ian had used, or a quirk of his brow that betokened some thought that did not please her, crossed her mind. Then her eyes grew bright, gold fires and green sparks lighting the dark hazel to brilliance, as her mind formed phrases that would prick him into a fury. No burden of guilt dulled the flashing ripostes that she imagined. When she felt any emotion besides anticipation, it was a flicker of shame that she had permitted her vision to become so clouded that Isobel needed to tell her how to manage her man. |
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Partly for that reason and partly because, no matter how well she loved Isobel, Alinor preferred to quarrel in the privacy of her own home, she had decided not to wait for Ian at Monmouth. That was what she had written to him, in addition to the news of Isobel's safe delivery, but she had also asked him to stop at Roselynde on his way back to the siege at Kemp. There was something of particular note that she wished to discuss with him that was better not written in a letter, she had said. Exactly what this particular matter was to be, Alinor had no idea. She trusted to the invention of the moment or to bedeviling Ian so much that he would not rememberat least until things were well enough be- |
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